If you could see my living room floor right now, you might cringe. Or laugh, depending on whether you’re one of the military wife tribe or not. There are sea bags–four of them–propped up against the sofa and lying empty on the floor, waiting to be filled with all sorts of sweat and dirt soaked gear. A laptop lies open on the seat next to me, the printer chugging away in the office, shooting out last minute packing lists. Our coffee table is buried under gum and notebooks and extra deodorant.

My husband sits in the middle of it all huddled over a water proof pouch, trying to stuff his blouse wrapped in the leg of his trousers inside, optimizing every inch of space possible.

He is leaving tomorrow, and this is the first time ever I have not prepared myself for it.

When I was 37 weeks pregnant, my husband left–that was the first time, for four months–and I spent those four sweet newborn months traveling all over the world introducing far-away family to my miracle of a son. The day after Thanksgiving, he left again, all the way up until Christmas, and it was short but I hardly noticed because I traveled. There has been no deployment yet, but one is coming; this next half a year of him being gone 80% of the time is practice.

I have built my whole entire life around not having to stay here. I have no job I have to show up to every day, no daycare we’re paying for, no social commitments, no regular volunteer efforts, no bills that can’t be paid via my handy-dandy computer. My job allows me to work from literally anywhere in the world and that’s one reason I chose it. There is nothing keeping me in this place–no animals and no people–and I like it that way. I planned it that way.

Only recently these people have been coming into my life, people I didn’t know, writing to me because they read my blog and saw we have a lot in common. People who I connected with accidentally via Facebook and who I now talk to regularly. All these new friends who showed up, unplanned, in one way or another and have made me choose to stay this time around. It’s only for a month and a half, but I’m not going to leave. Maybe for a few days here and there to visit family I haven’t seen in far too long, but I am staying here, home.

Alone.

Alone because my husband is leaving tomorrow; his sea bags littering the floor are proof. And here I am, not ready. Here I am un-preparing myself for him to leave.

See, here’s the thing: the more I think about him leaving, the less I cherish these last few hours we have together. The more I focus on the fact that tomorrow I will drive onto base, drop him off outside his battalion, watch him unload his gear, give him a quick kiss as he hurries inside, and drive away, the less I will be present now, during the time that we have together. If you’re considering calling my bluff on this being present thing, he is literally next to me packing (still) and while I’m letting him focus, I am still here. Not just physically, but emotionally as well.

(PS. If you guys really want to know, tomorrow is my son’s first birthday. At least he’ll get a kiss from Daddy before he has to say goodbye!)

In the past, I have begun the process of emotionally distancing myself prior to him leaving as the date of my husband’s departure grew closer and closer–it makes the goodbye easier, of course. I know from experience that saying goodbye is easiest when said lightly. Most of my best friends I have parted ways with over a huge hug, a grin, and a, “see you later!” Even though many I haven’t seen since, and it’s been years, it was simpler that way, pretending it was just another day.

Only I can’t do that with my husband. He deserves more than a lighthearted wave and a big hug–he deserves to see my heartbreak. He needs to see it so he knows what to come back to. It’s taken me many, many goodbyes to learn that being strong doesn’t mean pretending like everything is okay. When I say goodbye to my husband, he needs to see that everything is not okay but still I will be okay. When I start preparing myself days, even weeks before he leaves so the goodbye will come easily, I rob him of the chance to truly see my heart and how much I need him. I’ll be okay without him and as long as I have Jesus I’ll be okay forever, but that doesn’t change the fact that I need my best friend to come home, and quickly. I also rob him of those precious last few days we have together where things are normal, because in our house focusing on the anticipation of saying goodbye leads to a lot of tension and frustrated words.

Still, it comes at a price. As I watch him reply intently to a million last-minute texts and I see the bags and gear covering our hardwood floors, piled up on our couches, I am reminded that he leaves tomorrow and I am reminded that I am not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye again and even the hello that comes afterwards is tinted by how soon he’ll be on another airplane headed away once more.

But it’s better this way. It is better to be here with him, present in the moment that he is still at home, than it is to be ready to say goodbye.

Goodbye is coming quickly, indeed–a few more hours and I’ll be giving him the last kiss he’ll get for a long time. As I strap my baby boy back in the car seat and turn around to drive home, there’s always the moment where the tears sting and it feels like there are a million mountains on my shoulders, but that moment will pass. Then I will deal with the goodbye and the reality of him being gone.

Not while he’s here, though. Not while the sea bags still fill the living room floor and the empty magazine stacks cover the coffee tables–reminders that he is still home. 

The goodbye will come when it comes, but it hasn’t come yet. And until it comes I’ll hold his hand and memorize what it feels like to be together because we are still together. I am unprepared but so content with this moment we have right now.